


a well-trodden path, but one we'll walk all the same

by TittyAlways



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Pre-Canon, bookman pasta, indulgent inclusion of accents, scottish campbells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 12:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11013309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TittyAlways/pseuds/TittyAlways
Summary: Neah never expected to find his soulmate at the age of eleven - and he never expected that soulmate to have pretty red hair and a smile like the sun and fingersmadefor piano which eternally preferred flicking through the dry, dusty pages off books. Neah could write songs for his laugh, cycles for his subtle moods and play a hundred obnoxiously loud pieces just to break Allen's stubborn Bookman focus.The thing he wouldn't do, however - the one thing he wouldn't do was play the song scribed in both their paired souls. Not when Allen had refused it. Not when Allen had said it wasn't real. Not since he found those familiar notes falling from his fingers, to have Allen's first comment on his music be, "That's the most beautiful piece I've heard from you." He wouldn't. Hecouldn't. Not with Allen potentially staying in his library for years, and not when he insisted firmer than anything that Bookmen didn'thavesoulmates.Neah just wanted to know what kind of Bookman that made Allen.





	a well-trodden path, but one we'll walk all the same

**Author's Note:**

> who's fanworks week idk her this was gonna be my piece for the day 2 prompt but its lit gonna be so long i'm not possibly gonna finish it in tim - THAT BEING SAID i might get the second chapter done by the date loll but im basically leaving this here so i wont jsut.... forget it lmfao. 
> 
> hope yall enjoy whispering accented dialogue to urself as u read cause i fear that may be the only way to actually understand some of the shit the twins say to each other lmfaooo i have no regrets

By the time the mansion was in sight Neah was gasping for breath, his lungs burning and his legs threatening to give out with each step. Tucking his head down, he forced himself to keep running until the wheat was slapping and cutting at his legs and he was feeling lightheaded. It was a detour to run to the back of the manor, but Neah didn’t want to catch the maid’s eye - he was sweaty and dusty and the knees of his pants were stained in dirt and he didn’t have  _ time  _ to explain himself to her. He didn’t have time to explain to anyone but Mana, and with any luck Mother would have left him to rest. 

Chest heaving, Neah only allowed his steps to falter and slow when he approached the service door built into the back of the house - one the maids never bothered to use, which was more an escape route for him than anything else. It wasn’t hidden, exactly, but it was meant to be locked and no-one had noticed that Neah had stolen the key months ago. Fingers shaking with adrenaline and exhaustion, Neah fumbled to get that key into the lock and barely paused to close the door behind him before he was taking off down the dark service hall, tracing a familiar path towards Mana’s room up on the third level.

Huffing and puffing from the flights of steep stairs and relying heavily on his memory to find the right door, Neah poked his nose through a small opening and glanced up and down the hall. Finding it empty and familiar, he slipped out of the service hall and closed the small door behind himself as quietly as possible. There wasn’t meant to be anyone in this wing of the manor - it was locked off just for Mana, because he was sick and he needed to rest. Neah knew how to sneak around though. As if he’d just leave his brother here alone, with only the maids and mother for company! He’d  _ never  _ get better if all he had was people worrying about him every day. And… it wasn’t like he  _ pestered  _ him. But when big news happened, Mana deserved to know. And Neah had big,  _ big  _ news - news that couldn’t wait for dinner and a bath.

Tiptoeing along the corridor, he pressed his ear to Mana’s door and listened for Mother’s voice, ensuring she wasn’t in there reading to him again. Mana had probably heard their entire library at this point - he’d already been in bed for a month this time, not to mention all the times before that. But there was no sound coming from within the room, so Neah carefully lifted the latch and slipped through the door, closing it silently behind him. 

Mana looked so tiny in the bed. Well, he  _ was  _ tiny so that wasn’t very surprising. But it always sobered Neah to see his brother sleeping so frail and sick beneath heavy blankets on the massive four-poster bed. Neah was still struggling to catch his breath after his long run from the town, and his breaths sounded too loud in the silence of the room. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to quiet his racing heart, and moved quietly to kneel by his brother’s side.

Draping his arms over to Mana, Neah leaned his chin on the mattress and poked gently at Mana’s hand, whispering, “Oi leezibones, wake up.” Manna mumbled something and snuffled, then curled further in on himself so his messy black curls fell in front of his face. Leaning closer, Neah twined his fingers with Mana and said in an undertone, “Ye wilnae believe who a’ met taday," with his Glaswegian accent coming unconsciously thick for his brother, the two of them understanding it like another language.

“Mmf?” Mana grumbled and his exhausted eyes blinked open from behind the mess of his hair. There were dark bags under his eyes and Neah wondered why they never went away, even though Mana spent so much time sleeping. But his brother squeezed his hand in a sleep-weak grip and brought his other hand up to stifle a yawn. “Is it tea?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eye.

Neah scoffed and remarked, “Ye think th’ maid wid let me bring tea?” with a wry smile far too mature for his age. 

Mana sniffed again and seemed to wake up more, blinking owlishly at Neah. “Oh,” he realised, pushing himself to sit up a little. The blankets fell from his shoulders and Neah wondered briefly when Mana had become so thin, before remembering his mother saying over and over  _ sickness is a tairible thing, Neah  _ with her eyes almost as tired as Mana’s. It must be one of those terrible things then, because Mana was always sick and he was always tired and sleeping and Mother was always up here looking after him. Mana’s nose wrinkled a little and he yawned again before muttering, “Ye’r a’ sweaty,” like it wasn’t obvious, following the dip in Neah's accent without hesitation.

Neah rolled his eyes and said, still speaking quietly, “Aye, cause ah bolted a’ th’ wey ‘ere.”

“Fae whaur?” Mana asked and scooted over to make room for Neah to climb onto the bed beside him. 

Neah stood and kicked his shoes off before clambering up onto the soft mattress and falling onto the pillows with an appreciative huff. “I cam fae th’ town. Spent th’ day thare. Mither wanted me tae practice piano,” he commented, nose twitching in disgust. 

“Ye shild do whit she says,” Mana scolded weakly, but cut himself off with another yawn. “Why’d ye run back ‘ere though? You’re a’ dairty tae,” he realised, looking at Neah’s clothes and mirroring his nose twitch. 

“Ah wis playing,” he said simply, the grin he’d been wearing all the way from town coming back to stretch across his face. “There’s a gam cried fitba, or footba’, or - when ye’r well again ah’ll teach ye, bit thar wur heaps o’ fowk playing. Lik’, mibbie a dozen!”

“Kin that mony fowk spiel yin gam?” Mana asked, doubtful.

“Ah dinnae ken,” Neah shrugged, “bit we wur playing anyway, ‘nd ‘twas  _ heaps  _ o’ fin. Someone pushed me ower!” he announced, his voice raising from its whisper pitch in his excitement. “That’s howfur ah git a’ dairty,” he offered as explanation before pushing himself to sit up next to Mana, crossing his legs and facing him. “Bit that’s nae whit ah wanted tae tell ye!”

“Whit did ye want tae tell me then?” Mana teased a little, his lips twitching in amusement at Neah’s excitement. 

Neah leaned forwards, pressed his hands to the blankets between them and glanced around, as though to make sure they were alone before bringing his hand up to whisper,  _ “Ah think ah foun’ him!”  _ Mana blinked at him blankly for a moment before Neah lifted his right hand and waved it in his face, jabbing his finger at the tattoo inked along the line of his right thumb. “Ye ken,” he wriggled in excitement,  _ “him.” _

Mana squinted and caught Neah’s hand, holding him still so he could peer down at the familiar script of his soulmate mark.  _ “Leave a kiss on our joined hands,”  _ he read, then glanced up at Neah with a light scowl to say, “Ye’r nae even meant tae  _ hae  _ this yit.”

“Nae mah fault,” Neah retorted defensively, tugging his hand back, “it shawed up lest year, mind?”

“Aye, ah mind,” Mana admitted, mouth twisting a little. “Bit whit dae ye mean ye  _ foun’  _ him?”

Exuberance returning, Neah reached out to clasp Mana’s hands in his, shaking them a little as he bounced and chanted, “Ah foun’ him,  _ ah foun’ him!  _ Ma soulmate!”

Mana frowned, confused, and reasoned, “Bit we’re anly ‘leven - ye  _ cain  _ hae a soulmate yit. Thay’re fir adults, aren’ thay?”

“Ah din-nae ca-re~!” Neah sang, bouncing more and throwing himself back on the bed so he could roll around. “I’m gin tae town again tamorra, ah’m gin tae see him again!” he announced, ecstatic.

Ever hesitant, Mana cautioned, “Ye shid bade hame ‘nd practice. Mither wants ye tae learn th’ song-”

“Bit ah already  _ ken  _ th’ song,” Neah groaned and spread his hands out in the air before him, playing the tune he knew by heart into the imaginary keys before him, “‘nd anyway,” he said, face sinking into a devilish smirk when he rolled to face Mana again, “dinnae ye want tae ken mair about him?”

Unwilling, Mana glanced around the room as though expecting the maid to appear from thin air and scold him for thinking about anything but getting well. At length, when it became apparent that wasn’t going to happen, he admitted, “Ah…  _ dae.  _ Bit ah dinnae want ye tae git in trauchle,” he stressed, the conflict warring on his face.

Sobering for a moment, Neah pushed himself up to sit with Mana and promised sincerely, “Ah willnae git in trouble, ah  _ swear.  _ Ah’ll juist gang fir an hour, tae see if ah kin fin’ him. Then I’ll come straecht back.”

Reluctantly, Mana hummed his approval and broke out into another jaw-cracking yawn. Blinking blearily once he’d settled, he murmured, “Howfur d’you ken he’s yers anyway?”

Grinning, Neah shuffled down to lay back on the bed and tugged Mana’s hand to pull him down. “‘Tis th’ song, ye ken?” he said while Mana tucked his head against Neah’s shoulder. Quietly he hummed the tune their mother had sung them as a lullaby since they were kids,  _ “Douka kono ko ni ai wo, tsunai da te ni kissu wo~  _ Ah hae th’ kiss.”

Sleepy almost as a trigger reflex to hearing the tune, Mana murmured against his shoulder, “Sae whit’s he got?”

Smiling quietly he whispered,  _ “Please gie yer love tae this child,”  _ and had to swallow back a tightness in his throat. 

“Whit’s it mean?” Mana asked, and grumbled a little when Neah’s shrug jostled him.

“Na idea,” he answered, but it didn’t stop his smile, “bit ah reckon ah will fin’ out.”

“Aye?” Mana yawned again and shuffled around a bit, settling down. “Whit’s he like?”

Still grinning, Neah petted Mana’s hair and spoke to the canopy above their heads when he murmured, “He’s git th’ prettiest red locks ah’ve ever seen - ‘nd it’s pure lang, lik’ a girl’s. His face looks kind o’ lik’ a girl’s tae, bit he’s definitely a boy. He’s git grey een, bit ah didn’t notice at foremaist cause he wears glasses. Bit he’s th’ smartest body ah ever met who’s our age - he ken a’ th’ rules tae fitba, ‘nd didn’t even need tae read it aff a book.”

Mana hummed a sleepy sound of contentment and Neah kept stroking his hair, urging him gently back into sleep while he talked low and calm.

“He wasn’t even playing th’ gam though, he wis th’ yin wha said when fowk were breaking th’ rules. ‘Nd  _ a’body  _ listened tae him.” He sighed wistfully, happily, and had to bite back his smile because it was getting too big. “Whin that lad pushed me doon he came richt ower ‘nd helped me up, ‘nd - Mana, ye wouldn’t  _ believe  _ his smile,” he said, giving up on holding back his grin. “Mah knees were a’ bloody ‘nd it didn’t even hurt, whin he smiled at me.” He had to stop for a moment, to swallow back that swell of emotion. His smile trembled a little, eyes prickling for some reason he didn’t know, and he admitted, “Whin he smiled, it’s lik’ everything stopped hurting.”

Mana only snuffled quietly and Neah glanced down at him, saw his eyes closed and hands curled into half-fists while he teetered on the edge of sleep. Smiling gently, Neah pressed a kiss to his brother’s head and sang quietly, barely a murmur,  _ “Soshite bouya wa nemuri ni tsuita…”  _ and continued until Mana’s sleeping breaths were huffing against his collarbone before carefully slipping out from under him. He replaced his shoulder with a pillow and tugged a blanket up to cover Mana’s thin shoulders before padding lightly towards the door. He glanced back for a moment, at his tiny brother in that big, big bed, and wondered if his soulmate could smile and make Mana well again. 

 

The next day his knees were stiff from his fall, the grazes pulling uncomfortably when his feet reached for the pedals of the piano. His mind was out the window and down the road, back in the town square where he’d played football and met his soulmate. He was snapped back to the piano room when he fumbled a few notes and his teacher’s switch hit his knuckles, making him draw his hands back with a sharp hiss. 

Neah glared bitterly at the old man from the corner of his eye and wrinkled his nose lightly in a sneer when he commanded, “From the start.” Sulking, Neah set off from the beginning with his hands falling too heavy on the keys, only to earn a second welt across his knuckles. Cradling his hand to his chest Neah’s mouth twisted into a scowl and clenched his jaw when the old teacher snapped, “This music is  _ delicate.  _ You have to  _ treat  _ it as such. Again.” Pulling in an angry breath and forcing his shoulders to unwind, Neah breathed out in a facsimile of calmness and tried again, the notes falling lightly from his fingers.

He made it more than halfway through the familiar lullaby, the words sung in his head with his mother’s gentle voice. He was snapped out of the refrain by the quick burn of the switch across his knuckles, the old man snapping, “You’re going too slow in the bridge.”

Fed up, Neah bit out without thinking, “Fur that’s how tis  _ meant  _ tae be,” and almost had the wherewithal to regret it but was too focused on the lingering burn of welts making his knuckles go stiff to care.

A frown like a thunderhead descended on the mentor’s brow and Neah thought he ought to be afraid, but found it only served to feed his own bitter frustration. “Excuse me?” the teacher asked, voice low and dangerous.

Refusing to back down, Neah fumed, “Tis  _ meant  _ tae be slow,” and then, because he was impatient and impulsive and was sick of being told how to play  _ his  _ song, he added, “Dinnae ye know anything?” with a sneer.

His tutor pulled back the switch and struck it across Neah’s hands, harder than before. Seething and pulling back for another strike, he barked, “Are you  _ questioning  _ me, boy?” Neah faltered and flinched, let out a small sound when the switch landed its biting strike on his shoulder, hard enough to bruise. “Do you want to  _ learn,  _ or do you think you can  _ teach?”  _ he snapped, reeling his arm back.

Scrunching his face against the pain, Neah gritted his teeth and put his hands out to catch the next strike, the thin wood pulling up blood spots beneath the skin of his palms. Ignoring the burning sting, he clenched his hands around the stick and wrenched it out of the old man’s hands. Scrambling off the piano seat and darting away, Neah sneered and waved the switch between them and taunted, “Ah din’ know,  _ Sir.  _ Think ye can teach without this?”

The man lunged for him, face going purple in fury, but Neah darted away and paused at the door to the piano room only to snap the cane over his knee. Flinging the pieces at the old piano teacher one after the other, he tossed a rude gesture he’d learned from the kids in the town over his shoulder, then turned on his heel and darted down the hall.

Breathing heavily, he rounded a corner with the heavy steps of the teacher thundering after him and wrenched open one of those invisible service doors he used to sneak around, slamming it behind him before the old man could see where he’d disappeared to. Without waiting around, irrational fury and adrenaline pounding in his veins, Neah dashed down the dim corridor to the door he knew led outside. His feet echoed in the narrow stone halls and his heart pounded in his ears, his inherent fear of the old piano teacher telling him he had to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible before he was caught and punished. The grazes on his knees tugging and stinging, Neah winced when he felt them split open but didn’t stop running.

At the service door, Neah rummaged for his key and breathed a sigh of relief that he always kept it on him. He didn’t fancy running back up to his room - the maid had probably already been told what he’d done and had gone there looking for him. But he doubted they’d expect him to leave the manor, which worked in his favour. Tearing open the door, he was blinded by the bright sunlight for a moment before he turned to tug his key out of the lock and close the door behind him. And then he was off, racing down the path with blood trickling down his shins. His dress shoes quickly turned dusty from the dirt path, but Neah didn’t much care. After several minutes a stitch was piercing his side like a blade but he kept going, kept running until the mansion had disappeared beyond a hill and the town was spread out before him. 

He slowed for a moment, trying to catch his heaving breath and throwing paranoid glances over his shoulder before he decided the best thing for it would be to keep running. So he kicked back up into a slow jog, each step bringing him closer to the town. And, he admitted once the blood was no longer pounding in his ears, his soulmate. He was down there, somewhere. Neah could go find him, he could  _ talk  _ to him. He’d been intending to go anyway, but this way Mana was going to be upset to hear he’d disobeyed the piano teacher and run off. 

Neah almost didn’t care. He was too scared of what was back at home, and too excited to find what was in the town. He’d go home eventually, of course. Eventually. Once everyone had forgotten what he’d done and the piano teacher had left for the day. He’d go home and apologise to Mother and let the maid scold him, then sneak up to Mana’s room and tell him everything. 

Feeling a small smile grow on his lips, Neah let his jogging steps slow when he passed the first houses of the town. Glancing around curiously, half expecting to see his soulmate around every corner, Neah tentatively made his way towards what he thought was the town square. He didn’t actually come here often, had only visited a few times with his mother and occasionally Mana before he’d started sneaking out a few times each month. He’d wanted stories to tell Mana, and nothing interesting happened inside the mansion. It was always just lessons and lessons, and sometimes the cat found a mouse and left the stomach in front of the maid’s door, but Neah  _ hated  _ how bored he was every day. With Mana cooped up in bed there was nothing to do and no-one to talk to. And here, outside, he’d found his  _ soulmate.  _ Just in the next town!

Excitement bubbled in Neah’s chest and he kicked up his feet into a jog again, ignoring the blisters he could feel forming from the tight dress shoes he wore for piano lessons. Of course, there was no actual  _ proof  _ that it was the boy with pretty silver eyes and red hair was his soulmate, but Neah had a  _ feeling,  _ and he’d recognise his song anywhere, in any language or script, even tattooed across someone’s collarbone. And Neah didn’t think a smile like that could belong to anyone  _ but  _ the person who was destined to hold his heart. He just didn’t think it was possible. 

Rounding a corner, Neah found himself back in the square where he’d played football the day before. A few other kids were kicking around in the dust, passing the round ball between each other with their feet. It wasn’t like before, where there was a savage surge of motion with intent, and Neah didn’t see his soulmate sitting on the edge of the fountain like last time either. 

He approached one of the boys and asked, almost hesitant, “Are ye playing a gam?”

The boy glanced up and gave him a roguish grin, showing off a missing tooth like a badge before he answered, “Nay, ain’t enough fowk tae form teams. Plus Allen’s oot, sae thare’s gonnae be brawls.” He caught a pass with the inside of his foot and flicked the ball up so he could kick it to the next person, Neah watching on enchanted.

“Allen?” he prompted with a frown, wondering if he knew the name. 

The boy grunted confirmation and said, “He ain’ pure speil, bit ‘e’s git a’ th’ rules sae a’body listens tae ‘im.”

Interest piqued, Neah’s ears almost perked like a dog’s when he heard that. “Whaur is he now?” he asked, feigning disinterest and failing spectacularly if the boy’s bemused glance was anything to go by. 

He gave a one-shouldered shrug and gestured vaguely to another section of the town. “Likelie at th’ library. ‘E’s workin’ wi’ some auldjin, readin’ books a’ day. Mist be died borin’,” he snorted and caught the next pass with his toe, flicked it to his friend. 

Practically bouncing in place, Neah demanded, his accent thickening to match the boy’s, “Whaur’s th’ library? Howfur dae ah get thare?”

The boy gave him another weird look but pointed more specifically, singling out a street and directing, “Ower thare, then keep heading doon tha’ road ‘til ye come tae th’ grocery. Caw onto tha’ road ‘nd there’s some stores - it’s in amongst tha’ lot.”

Nodding with a grin and stepping off in a jog, Neah cast a wave over his shoulder and called, “Cheers!” before he dashed down the road the boy had indicated. He followed the winding path carefully, keeping an eye out for the grocery and relaxing a little when he saw the crates of fresh fruit piled up outside the small corner store. Slowing to a walk, knees stinging and feet aching, Neah rounded the corner and started along that road. He peered into each window and read each sign, determined to find the library, and perked when he squinted through a dusty window into a building filled floor to ceiling with books. 

Without hesitating, he darted to the door and wrenched it open, the bell overhead tinkling when it fell closed behind him. It was like another world in there - dim and quiet, full of the smell of dust and old paper. Neah wriggled his nose, sniffing, and stifled a quick sneeze against his sleeve. He peered up, glancing around to ensure he hadn’t disrupted the strange silence of the place, and took a few steps inside before pausing and cocking his head to listen. Faintly he could hear the whisper of soft pages being turned, a moth beating itself against the window pane. 

Neah took another careful step in and peered down one of the dim corridors, the silent shelves reaching high into the ceiling. Quietly, the dusty floor muffling his steps, Neah moved to the next and the next, searching around each corner for a hint of life. There were books and loose manuscripts piled on every surface, even the floor, and Neah lurched to catch a pile he’d bumped before it could crash down. Breathing a careful sigh of relief when he managed to steady the crooked tower, Neah glanced around the next corner and quickly silenced a sound of surprise. 

He was  _ there,  _ he - Allen, Neah’s Allen. His long auburn hair looked almost brown in the dim light, and the frame of his glasses caught whatever dull sunlight managed to filter through the dirty windows. Neah held completely still, hardly daring to breathe out of fear of alerting him. 

It was strange, but he was  _ nervous.  _ He was here now, and he’d found Allen, and he  _ didn’t know what to say.  _ What  _ should  _ he say? It was so quiet in there, it felt like any sound would be too loud. Too startling. Neah shifted his feet and his sore knee bumped against the pile of books he’d just saved. With a small yelp he scrambled to catch them, but couldn’t make it a second time and they clattered across the floor with several dull thuds. 

Neah froze, caught when Allen glanced up from the book in his hands to find the source of the commotion. Quickly, Neah ducked his head and scrambled to pile the books back together, shuffling them haphazardly and stacking them back up. 

He was stopped by a gentle hand on his, a voice saying, “Let me.” Neah rocked back on his heels, blinking blankly at his auburn-haired soulmate as he shuffled the books into some order beyond Neah’s understanding and stacked them neatly back on the pile. He finished quickly and glanced up at Neah, offering him an easy smile with his eyes slipping closed behind his glasses. Neah’s breath caught in his chest, his heart pounding when the warmth of that smile washed over him. His voice quiet, more subdued than Neah remembered from the football game, he asked, “Do you need help finding something?”

His words were so pretty and cultured, so perfectly  _ English _ that Neah could only blink stupidly for a moment before swallowing his heart back down from his throat and stating, “A’m Neah,” and felt himself cringe a little at how rough he sounded, compared. Allen’s eyes opened and he was still smiling, but he looked amused more than anything. In the resounding silence, Neah felt his cheeks heat up and stumbled to say, “A’m ye - ye’r Allen, richt?”

His smile sinking into a quiet laugh he nodded and stood up, dusting off his hands before offering one to Neah. “I’m Allen,” he confirmed, and Neah hesitated only half a second before accepting his hand. It was warm and dry, like the pages of a book, and his grasp made Neah feel  _ happy.  _

“Ah, um,” he started to say, no clue what he  _ wanted  _ to say, but Allen interrupted him with a frown and peered closer at his hand, adjusting his glasses.

“What happened?” he asked, concern painting his voice, and Neah realised he’d found the red-bruised welts from his tutor. Frowning, Allen glanced up and demanded, “Did you get hit?”

“Tis nothing,” Neah tried to wave it off, but didn’t resist when Allen turned his hand to look at his palm. His light frown quickly turned into a scowl and Allen dragged Neah closer to the windows, holding his hand up to the light so he could see where Neah had caught the cane. The welts under his skin had blossomed into large spots, dark with blood, and Allen glanced up at him with wide eyes. “Tis juist,” Neah shrugged and tried to offer an unbothered grin, “mah teacher. Tis braw,” he said and found himself torn between pulling his hand from Allen’s and leaving it there in his comfortable grasp.

Allen squinted at his hand for another long moment before looking up at Neah’s face, a brief expression of recognition washing over his face. His lips parted and he murmured,  _ “Oh!”  _ and blinked a few times before saying, “you’re the boy from yesterday.”

Neah’s lips parted in surprise before he grinned, warmth falling over him like happiness. “Ye mind me,” he remarked with a laugh and Allen gave him another amused smile, past his flicker of confusion over the foreign term.

“Of course I remember you,” he gave Neah a lightly reprimanding look, still smiling when he reminded, “it was your ball that knocked me into the fountain.”

Neah, abashed, offered a sheepish grin and tried to ignore the way Allen was still holding his hand when he rushed, words filling his mouth without a thought while his mouth automatically rounded to form the sounds like Allen did, as much as he could without realising, “Ay came tae apologise for that, actually.”

Allen blinked in surprise and finally dropped Neah’s hand so he could run his fingers back through his red hair. Sheepish, like he’d never expected anything like an  _ apology,  _ Allen reassured, “That’s, um. It’s fine, you know. You didn’t have to come all the way or anything.” He huffed a nervous laugh and glanced away when he tried to reason, “None of the books got wet - or,  _ very  _ wet. But I’d already read them!” he rushed to reassure and Neah watched him flounder a little with growing amusement. “Only a few pages were damaged, so I was able to recreate them without too much-”

“Wait,” Neah frowned, cocking his head, “ye  _ recreated  _ them?”

Allen blinked briefly, his ramble interrupted, and hesitated to say, “Well… yes. The pages weren’t very important to me, but the books belong to this library. Since I got them damaged it’s only fair I repair them.”

A few questions were surfacing in Neah’s mind and he wasn’t sure which to ask first, leaned forward a little to shoot them off one after another, impatient for Allen’s answers and slipping deeper into his rough Glaswegian accent without thinking, “Bit hae did ye mind whit wis oan th’ pages? ‘Nd hae come ye’v gotta gie th’ books back? Don’t ye wirk ‘ere? Someone said ye wur reading ‘ere every day - dae ye git baired o’ readin’ books a’ day? ‘Nd dae ye mind  _ ilka  _ book ye read? Howfur dae ye dae that?”

Allen seemed to stifle his laugh for a moment before letting it out in all its quiet, musical glory. He was so pretty when he laughed, his nose scrunching up a little and his eyes squinting closed. Neah’s fingers itched to run along ivory keys - he wanted to play the melody of Allen’s laugh, make it the most beautiful song in the world and throw it at his dumb mentor’s face. Composing himself, Allen started, “I, um,” and stopped to giggle again. “I have eidetic memory, so I remember things like that easily. I have to give the books back because I’m only borrowing them, doing research on something that might have happened here some time ago.” Neah watched with wide eyes as he continued to answer every question he’d asked in the right order, his eyes still sparkling silver in amusement when he admitted, “I get a little bored sometimes - that’s why I went out yesterday, to get some fresh air. And yes, I remember… ilka… every? I remember every book I read, and again I can do that because of my training.”

Mouth agape, Neah reached to clasp Allen’s hand in both of his and repeated, “Ye  _ trained  _ to do it?” with amazement painted in disbelief. “How did ye  _ do  _ that?  _ Why?  _ Can ah learn, or are ye special?”

“Yes,” Allen grinned, listing his answers, “with lots of patience, because I was chosen to, you could probably learn but it takes years of practice and I don’t think you’d really want to.”

“Ah want to,” Neah insisted, eyes wide as he held Allen’s hand. “Ye’re  _ amazing,  _ ah want to be like that!”

Allen’s lips parted, genuine surprise washing over his face moments before his cheeks were painted in a heavy blush. Pulling his hand away he stuttered, “I, uh,” and gave a smile that trembled at the corners from his embarrassment, “I’m not that, um. I’m certainly not  _ amazing,  _ I’m just-”

Grinning, Neah insisted, “Ye  _ are  _ though! I bet Mana’s read ilka - bet he’s read  _ every  _ book in our library,” Neah consciously corrected himself, “and doesn’t ‘member a word fae one of them!”

“Your library?” Allen repeated, his embarrassment forgotten in the face of that information.

Neah, realising he’d caught Allen’s attention with that, grinned widely and nodded, unable to stop himself from bouncing a little in excitement when he announced, “Aye! It’s  _ massive,  _ all the books my teachers make me read come fae there, plus heaps ah don’t even know about.”

Wide-eyed, Allen looked as though he was going to say something to that before an impatiently gruff voice called from the dim shelves, “Did you find that text yet, or did you get lost again?”

Allen glanced over in the direction of the voice, surprised, his hand instinctively going for the book he’d been reading before Neah had interrupted, carefully tucked under his arm. He shot Neah an apologetic smile and called back, taking steps towards the voice, “I’ve got it here.” Glancing back at Neah he offered a small wave and said, “Thanks for coming to see me.”

Neah was suddenly faced with the realisation that this was a farewell, that Allen probably wouldn’t see him again. As much as Neah’s soulmate loved the sound of an entire library of unread, unmemorised books, as far as he was concerned Neah had given his apology and they’d go their separate ways. Dismay welling up in Neah’s throat, he called out, “Wait!” moments before Allen disappeared into the shadowy aisles. The other boy paused, glanced over his shoulder with a patiently expectant look. He was so pretty, standing half in shadow with gold-painted dust motes swirling around him, settling on his shoulders and glasses and in his pretty red hair. Not knowing what he wanted to say, Neah took a step forward and filled the silence with uncertain words like, “I, um,” before he sucked in a deep breath and steeled himself, setting his jaw. Firm, he stated, “I saw yer mark yesterday. After ye - when ye fell, and had tae let yer shirt dry.” He gestured vaguely to Allen’s collarbone, and the other boy’s hand went instinctively to cover the soulmark inked there despite it being invisible beneath his shirt. “I’m,” Neah said, taking another small step forward and faltering a little when he saw the way Allen’s eyes were going wide, large and a bit scared. Quietly, hesitantly, he said, “Ye have my song,” and wondered why it felt so  _ terrible  _ to see Allen’s frightened expression. 

He glanced over his shoulder, into the depths of the library, before taking two quick steps to Neah and placing his hands on his shoulders, the corner of the book digging uncomfortably against Neah’s arm. Voice firm, eyes serious, Allen whispered, “I don’t  _ have  _ a mark, okay? I’m a Bookman - we don’t  _ have  _ soulmates.” He seemed to swallow something back and glanced over his shoulder again before pinning his desperate eyes on Neah. “It wasn’t your song,” he stressed, pleaded and watched Neah’s face for some kind of understanding. “You have a soulmate, somewhere,” he tried to bargain, “but it isn’t  _ me.” _

Neah, blank faced and shocked, could only blink quietly and wait for something to make sense. He lifted his right hand between them, palm up, and reiterated, “But it’s my  _ song,”  _ because he’d recognise it anywhere, even engraved on the skin and soul of a whole other person. Quietly, heart breaking, he said, “It’s  _ you,”  _ because he’d never known anything to be more true. 

Allen shook his head, eyes pained and full of apology and dropped his hands from Neah’s shoulders. “I have to go,” he said, his retreating steps carrying him back towards those clinging shadows. He opened his mouth, looked like he wanted to say something like,  _ ‘See you later,’  _ or,  _ ‘Have a good day.’  _ Instead he just bit his lips, shook his head and disappeared amongst the winding aisles of dusty books, refusing to look back. 

Neah stayed for a moment, locked in place by the unexpected riot of  _ hurt  _ bubbling in his chest before he turned on his heel and dashed towards the door, haphazardly dodging stacks of books until he could tear open the library door and throw himself out of that stuffy, dusty place and back into the real world. The bell over the door chimed happily and Neah shot it a bitter glare, his hands clenched into fists as frustration boiled over. 

What did he  _ mean,  _ that he didn’t have a soulmate? Sure it was as likely as not that people would develop soulmarks, but Neah had  _ seen  _ it! He’d  _ felt  _ it, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Allen was the person his heart  _ belonged  _ with. So  _ why did he say he didn’t have one?  _

It wasn’t even a matter of disbelief - Neah  _ knew  _ that Allen was his soulmate, knew no other person in the world could have his song. And Neah was  _ angry.  _ He was hurt and angry and  _ bitter  _ and if Allen didn’t want him then  _ fine,  _ because as much as Neah liked talking to him and listening to him and making him smile and as much as Neah liked  _ him,  _ Neah wasn’t going to make a fool of himself for someone who preferred books to people. He wasn’t going to let himself care about someone who refused to care back. 

So, scowling savagely, Neah stormed away from the library, back past the grocery and along the road to the square. The boys there had managed to pull together some kind of rough and tussle game involving the ball, and Neah skirted them carefully before directing his frustrated, determined feet back out of the town. 

He made it to the outskirts before his angry steps slowed, his eyes unwillingly staring over the hill to where he knew the manor was. He glanced back behind him and wished bitterly Allen hadn’t taken his reason to stay, but still hesitated to leave. He didn’t…  _ want  _ to. He wanted to go back and shake Allen, hold him and sing his song -  _ their  _ song, sing it to him and make him  _ understand.  _

_ He wanted to understand. _

Neah looked down at his hand, at the inked words of his soulmark and the welts bleeding under his skin. He clenched his hand into a fist, nails scratching away the feeling of Allen’s paper-soft fingers trailing across his palm, and kept walking. He’d face whatever punishment was awaiting him at the manor, and hopefully the maid would beat any thoughts of Allen out of him. Sucking in a shuddering breath, he shoved away his fear and went  _ home. _ To his mother who loved him unconditionally, and to Mana who would never spurn his heart. 

If  _ Allen  _ didn’t need a soulmate, there was no reason for Neah to need one either.

 

Neah wasn’t able to get out from under the maid’s watchful eye until late that night when she’d retired to her quarters. He hated to have to bother Mana so late, but more than anything Neah didn’t want to be  _ alone.  _ Slinking through the dark halls on silent feet, Neah didn’t bother taking the service passages. No-one was around at this time, and the only reason he would see someone would be if Mother had fallen asleep at Mana’s bedside again - in which case Neah wouldn’t bother to wake either of them, and simply curl up next to Mana on that big, big bed of his and try to fall asleep despite the bruises and welts covering his arms and backside. The maid was thorough with her punishments, because Mother always went too soft on them. But it left Neah stiff and sore, and made the trek up to Mana’s room far more difficult than it needed to be. 

When he finally approached the door, he lifted the latch slowly and peered in through the crack. There was a single candle burning low on the nightstand because Mana hated the dark, and a book left beside him on the bed. But Mother’s familiar figure wasn’t draped over the edge of the mattress and Neah couldn’t see her tucked under the blankets beside Mana. Taking a careful breath, Neah slipped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him, padding quietly to the bedside. 

Doing his best to keep from jostling Mana, Neah clambered over his brother and settled on the bed beside him. He sniffed back the bitter knot of emotion in his throat and reached out to touch Mana’s shoulder, rousing him gently.

Mana was still for a long time and Neah’s breath caught for a moment, quiet panic threatening to overtake him if it hadn’t been for Mana’s shallow breaths. Neah shook him again, firmer this time, and Mana groaned in his sleep. But the groan turned into coughing, and the coughing woke him up and Neah sat up quickly, concerned when the fit didn’t stop. Mana struggled to heave in wheezing breaths and reached weakly for the glass of water on the bedside. 

Neah, frantic, reached over him and caught the glass, put and arm behind Mana’s shoulders to help him sit up and pressed the glass to his hands. Distress and panic making his hands shake, he helped guide the cup to Mana’s lips and between the two of them - one coughing, the other caught in panicked fear - they managed to spill half the water down Mana’s front before he swallowed a mouthful or two, coughed a few more times before gasping and gulping down the rest. 

He panted quietly for a moment, breath wheezing in his chest while Neah took the glass and slid out of the bed, rushed to the adjacent bathroom and filled the cup again before running back and handing it to Mana with panicked concern pinching his brows. Mana took the water and drank half the glass before coming up for another gasping breath, a hand pressed to his chest, and Neah could only watch on in silence while his brother struggled to learn how to breathe again. 

Slowly calming, Mana stretched to place the glass back onto the nightstand and Neah sank with weary relief to press his face into the bedcovers beside Mana’s knee. Voice muffled in the blankets to hide how it shook, he asked, “Urr ye okay?”

Mana’s throat was still hoarse and his voice was weak when he whispered, “A’m braw,” and Neah only looked up when Mana petted his head reassuringly. Blinking away the scared tears which had started forming too late in his eyes, Neah’s face crumpled when he saw Mana’s big wavering smile and he lurched forwards to wrap his arms tight around his brother’s waist. Still smiling that dumb smile, Mana left his hand on Neah’s head and consoled, “Dinnae cray, Neah.”

Mumbling through the blankets piled on Mana’s lap, Neah insisted,  _ “Ah’ament,”  _ and hugged him tighter, because he kind of was, just a little. 

Mana laughed a little, and Neah felt another small round of coughing wrack his thin body before he was tugging Neah up and shuffling aside so there was room for him on the edge of the bed. Quietly, voice still hoarse, Mana asked, “How come ye’r ‘ere sae late?” and snuggled back down under the blankets, hand coming up to cushion his head while he turned on his side to face Neah. 

Neah wormed his way under the covers and mirrored Mana’s posture, sighing quietly as his aching body unwound. “Wanted tae see ye,” he mumbled and reached for Mana’s hand in the space between them, eyes down while he played with his fingers.

Mana tilted his head into the pillow to cough again and when he came up he croaked, “Did ye gang find yer soulmate again?” Neah’s mouth twisted down into a scowl and Mana made a questioning sound, prompting him to explain with a gentle, “Whit happened?”

Neah swallowed, his own throat feeling clogged and dry, and muttered his frustration into the space between them, “He doesn’t  _ want  _ a soulmate,” with all the bitter, petty sarcasm that had been boiling over in his chest since that evening. Mana made a quiet sound, like the words hurt him, and he caught Neah’s fiddling fingers with his. Neah scowled at their hands, his mouth twisting when he recalled, “Said he didn’t  _ hae  _ a soulmate - whilk is wrong, ‘nd ah  _ ken  _ it’s wrong. Bit he’s a Bookman, whitevur that is, ‘nd he’s nae  _ allood.”  _ The words were bitter, and he hated the way they burned his mouth and made him sneer unhappily. Under his breath he muttered,  _ “Glaikit,”  _ and gritted his jaw because he regretted it the moment the word fell from his lips. 

Allen was kind and weird and stubborn and frustrating, but he wasn’t  _ stupid.  _ Even Neah knew that, in all his burning bitterness. Allen was  _ anything  _ but stupid. Too smart for his own good, probably. 

Gently, Mana whispered, “Ah think that’s a bawherr harsh,” and Neah nodded in grudging agreement because he was right. Nodding back because he understood Neah regretted it, Mana asked, “Dae ye want tae talk about him? Cause we kin read instead, if yi’ll want.”

Neah’s mouth turned down at the corners at the thought of reading, realised he’d rather talk and talk and talk about Allen, even if all he did was complain about him. “Ah ne’er wantae pick up anither book again,” he harrumphed and Mana curled in on a quiet laugh that turned into a light cough. Neah thought for a long moment, wondering what he could say about Allen that fell in line with his current bitterness, and sighed a long sigh when he realised he didn’t have much. Grudgingly, he admitted, “He’s barry though. He remembers ilka book he’s ever read - ‘nd he wis workin’ in a  _ library  _ sae he’s likelie read  _ heaps.” _

Smiling quietly, Mana asked, “Dae ye think he’s read  _ Uncle Tom’s Cabin?”  _

Neah grinned and let go of Mana’s hand so he could reach over and pick up the book Mother had left on the bed, the pages getting worn from all the times she’d read it to him. “Reckon he cuid recite th’ hail thing backwards,” Neah said confidently and flipped to the last page. In the deep voice he imagined Uncle Tom to have he read, “God Almighty, o’ wrath th’ nations on bring shall-” and was cut off by Mana’s laughter.

Covering his mouth and coughing between his giggles, Mana stretched to put a hand over Neah’s eyes and demanded,  _ “Naeee!  _ Ye cannae read th’ end foremaist!”

Grinning and laughing with him, Neah acquiesced, “Aye, aye,” and flipped to the middle and asked, “Whaur were ye up tae with Mither?” because he didn’t want to talk about Allen anymore, with the way his heart was hurting, and Mana loved hearing this story above all else. 

Immediately Mana announced, “Chapter six!” and Neah couldn’t help but smile wider when he saw how happy and alive his eyes looked in the dim light.

“Aye...” he hummed, flicking through the pages until he found the right place, “Chapter six. Discov’ry.” Mana shuffled closer to him and Neah held out one arm so he could rest on his shoulder and follow the words as he started to read, the light of the candle just enough to make out the small print. “Mister ‘nd Missus Shelby, efter thair protracted discussion o’ th’ nicht afore, did nae readily sink tae repose and, in consequence, slept somewhat later than usual th’ ensuing mornin’…” 

He continued reading in a low murmur, content to let Mana interrupt to do the voices until his short energy began to peter out and he was dozing on Neah’s shoulder. When Neah heard the quiet snort of a snore from him, he smiled a little and closed the book, stretching to place it on the nightstand. Mana’s arms were wrapped tightly around his waist, strong despite his body’s frailty, but Neah figured he wouldn’t have bothered moving even if that weren’t the case. Either Mother or the maid would find him in the morning, and neither would do anything to him until they got him out of Mana’s sight for fear of upsetting him. That being Neah’s primary concern too, he didn’t much care for the consequences. 

So he settled down beneath the blankets and his brother’s embrace, pressed a kiss to Mana’s sleeping head and let his eyes slip closed, the candle burning low.


End file.
